by Ann B. Ross
“Oh, I get it! You want to show him the kind of good neighbors those city folks will be getting. Listen,” she said, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling, “if that’s the case, you ought to put my granny at the top of the list.”
“Good idea. In fact, I’d like to show him Delmont, because, see, I don’t care if he builds an eight-story monstrosity, just so it’s where I don’t have to look at it. Main Street is just not the place for it, especially since he’ll have to destroy that beautiful courthouse with its Corinthian columns and gilded dome with a justice statue on top to make room for it. And since it’s inappropriate for me to be escorting him around by myself, I’m going to need a companion. I was counting on Hazel Marie, but now I can’t. You’re an able substitute, though, and we’ve worked well together in the past. Would you be up for it?”
She laughed and slapped her knee. “You better believe! What do we do first?”
“Well, first, I should call Mayor Outz and find out what’s been planned for Mr. Kessler. Then we’ll know how much time he’ll have for us.”
“Mr. Mayor?” I said when I was finally put through to him. “This is Julia Murdoch, and I’m calling to let you know how much we enjoyed Mr. Kessler’s company last night.” Etta Mae made a face, and I had to turn away to keep from laughing. “And, also, to ask how long he’ll be in town and if he’ll have any free time to let us acquaint him with the town.”
“Why, Miss Julia,” Mayor Outz said, just oozing sincerity, “what a pleasure to hear from you, and let me extend my thanks for entertaining him so royally in your home. I knew you’d like him. Everybody does, and it’d be more help than I can say if you’d take him off my hands for a few days. He won’t be here any longer than that, but I’ll tell you the truth, I’m about to suffocate in paperwork. Working on the budget, you know, and I can’t just ignore that to pal around with whoever decides to drop in. But we don’t want to lose Arthur Kessler, do we? No, ma’am, we don’t. We want him to feel at home here and welcome and wanted. So, if you see it as your civic duty to show him around and introduce him to some of our fine citizens, why, I’ll dance at your wedding.”
“No need for that. Just tell me where I can get in touch with him and leave the rest to me.”
With Mr. Kessler’s cell phone number in hand, I hung up the phone and smiled triumphantly at Etta Mae. “He’s staying at the Mary Grace Haddington House, but he’s probably already at the courthouse. The mayor is happy to turn him over to us.”
“Call him,” Etta Mae urged. “Let’s call him now, before he gets busy with something else. But wait. Where’re we going to take him first? We ought to have a plan of some kind.”
“I’m thinking,” I said, my eyes squinched up with the thought, “that Vernon Puckett would be a good one to start with. Did you see that article about him in the paper a couple of weeks ago? He’s started a new church just half a block up from the courthouse, right on Main Street. It’s where the Quality Furniture Store used to be, and it’s been empty for a long time. I think their quality ran out.”
“I didn’t know Brother Vern was back in town.”
“He’s in and out all the time, doing first one thing and another, but nothing for very long.”
“That’s the truth,” Etta Mae agreed. “Last I heard, he was holding tent meetings and printing tracts. Or was it preaching on TV?”
“All of the above, and anything he can think of. He’s Hazel Marie’s uncle, you know, and a thorn in my flesh for years. I almost hate to renew the acquaintance, but if anything can turn Mr. Kessler off, I’d think it’d be having a storefront church as a neighbor.”
“I guess,” Etta Mae said, a thoughtful look on her face. “Of course, we don’t know what kind of preaching Mr. Kessler likes. He might be one of those Holy Rollers like Brother Vern.”
“I doubt it. Mr. Kessler strikes me as somebody who wants to hear a sermon with three topics and an amen. If he wants to hear any at all.”
Etta Mae fiddled with her pocketbook strap. “I don’t know how you feel about it, and I hate to admit it, but Brother Vern’s preaching doesn’t do much for me. I mean,” she hurried to add, “I know he’s a man of God and I shouldn’t criticize, but I’d just as soon listen to a different kind of preacher.” She glanced up at me. “That’s just my opinion. I hope I haven’t offended you.”
“Offended me! Listen, Etta Mae, Brother Vern is a self-proclaimed preacher. He’s never been to seminary or anything. And if he was the only preacher available to me, I’d stay home and read the Bible. You haven’t offended me. I’m of the opinion that he ought to be banned from the pulpit, which, come to think of it, I think he has been. At least, from some of the churches around here. Why do you think he’s had to start a church of his own? Because he can’t find anywhere else that’d let him in, that’s why. No, don’t you worry about offending me where he’s concerned. He’s given me enough trouble over the years.”
Etta Mae gave me a relieved smile. “Okay. I just have a hard time dealing with preachers in general.”
“You and me, both. Now,” I said, picking up the phone again, “I’m going to call Mr. Kessler and invite him to a guided tour of the town.”
Chapter 24
“Here we are, Arthur.” I brought the three of us to a stop in front of the double doors of the Quality Furniture Store. We’d walked along the sidewalk from the courthouse, where Etta Mae and I had met Mr. Kessler. He’d spent the morning there with a representative of a demolition company getting an estimate of what it would take to bring down the building. He’d seemed pleased when I’d called and suggested that he join us so we could introduce him to some of the townspeople. Then, in his assumption that I’d be interested in the destruction of the courthouse, he mentioned the word implosion. I nearly dropped the phone.
“Just ignore the furniture store sign,” I said, motioning Etta Mae closer. She had a tendency to hang back, as I had learned when she helped me chase crooks in Florida. But when a monumental surprise is needed, why, she could come roaring to the rescue. “Now, Arthur, as far as I know, this is the newest church in town. You’ll find that Abbotsville is a hotbed of churches. They spring up overnight, seems like. That’s because we’re a very religious community, and Brother Vernon Puckett is as religious as they come. Why, I can’t tell you how many different spiritual avenues he’s been down. And, since his new church is only a hop and a skip from the courthouse, I’m sure it’ll be an added attraction for anybody looking to buy a condo.”
Mr. Kessler’s eyes darted from the storefront to Etta Mae and back to me. He wasn’t sure I was serious, and of course I wasn’t. But I wanted him to think I found nothing unusual in the display of Bibles, tracts, devotional books and plaques spread out in windows that had once featured chrome dinette sets and plush La-Z-Boy recliners.
“Let’s go in,” I said, pushing the door open and setting off a tinkling bell. “I called Brother Vern, so he’s expecting us.”
Well, even I had to stop and catch my breath when we stepped inside. The furniture company had occupied a huge space, much larger than Brother Vern’s fledgling church needed. He, or somebody, had attached a metal pole that spanned the width of the building about a third of the way back. A navy blue curtain hung from the pole, effectively hiding the back of the building and creating a more intimate meeting area. A large white banner was draped across the curtain. I had to blink twice at the words, GOD HAS RICHES UNTOLD WAITING FOR YOU, that were stenciled on it. Metal folding chairs, about six rows of them flanking a center aisle, substituted for pews. An oak pulpit with a microphone stood at the front, and an upright piano was catty-corner to the left of it, facing the congregational chairs. A chrome-decorated drum set was beside the piano. I counted two more stand-alone microphones nearby. Maybe Mr. Kessler’s condo owners wouldn’t have to leave home to hear the services.
“Welcome! Welcome!” Brother Vern swished aside the navy curtain and came rushing toward us, his ruddy face beaming. He hadn’t changed much since
the last time I’d seen him, except for a few added pounds and considerably darker hair. He was a patriotic sight in a navy double-knit suit that didn’t wrinkle except where he did, a white shirt and a bright red tie. I had to avert my eyes at his footwear. He was fashionably correct, since Easter had already come and gone, but to my mind it would always be too early for white patent-leather loafers.
He greeted me, nodded briefly at Etta Mae, but his attention was clearly focused on the man with us.
“Brother Vern, this is Mr. Arthur Kessler,” I said, beginning the introductions. “It looks as if he might be your neighbor, so I thought the two of you should meet.”
Brother Vern clasped Mr. Kessler’s hand in both of his and shook it as his broad welcoming smile gave way to a look of deep piety, consisting of a deep frown and a heavenward glance under half-closed eyes.
“Brother Kessler,” he said, still pumping his hand. “The Lord be praised. I can tell you’re a man of prayer. It’s just comin’ off you in waves, Brother, and I can tell because I’m a man of prayer, too. It takes one to know one, don’t it? But you folks have a seat. Pull up one of these metal chairs, but be careful how you sit. They’re a little rickety, ’cause they were donated by the Good Shepherd Funeral Home when they updated. You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, though, do you? You won’t find anybody that appreciates a gift like we do here at the Hallelujah House.”
Mr. Kessler retrieved his hand and began to back toward the door. “We can’t stay. Mrs. Murdoch and Etta Mae are showing me the town, and I have to get back to finish my survey of the courthouse.”
“Oh, well, I don’t want to hold you up.” Brother Vern edged closer and put his hand on Mr. Kessler’s shoulder. “A busy man like you has all kinds of business to tend to. But let me just say that I am looking forward to seeing that fine building of yours rise up from the ashes. And as soon as the lobby’s finished, I’ll put a tract rack in it so the people there will have ready access to the Word of God. And, of course, a schedule of our meeting times. I tell you, Brother, I’m lookin’ forward to our membership rolls expanding a hundredfold when you get all them new people moved in. Right now, since we’re so new and all, the nub of our membership come from the Rescue Mission or they walk in off the street. We could use some new blood and, listen,” he said, moving closer and lowering his voice in a confiding manner, “the people you bring in will want to hear my message. It’s human nature to want prosperity and wealth, ’specially if you don’t have neither one. But, you know what’s a fact? Them that has always wants more. And I know where to get it. Our Lord owns the cattle on a thousand hills and ever’thing else. Now, nobody wants a herd of cattle these days, but that’s just a symbol for what God wants to give away, and all we have to do is ask.
“And I’ll tell you something else,” Brother Vern continued, holding Arthur’s upper arm. “You heard of them twelve-step programs? Well, I got a four-step program. Number One, Trust God, because you can’t get nowhere without trust. Number Two, Invest in God, because, just like in a bank, you can’t make interest if you don’t invest your capital. And Number Three, Ask God, because he wants to hear what you want so he can supply it. And Number Four, Wait on God, because he’s sittin’ up there ready to shower you with all good things. But all in his own good time, you have to remember that and not go buying cars and condos and takin’ vacations on credit.”
Mr. Kessler had a slightly desperate look on his face. He glanced at his watch, then at me. “I do believe we need to be going. Good to meet you, Reverend Puckett. I wish you success in your endeavors.” And he turned and headed for the door with Brother Vern right behind him.
“Oh, don’t you worry about me,” he said, his broad smile restored to its former glory. “You just tell them city folk that this is one place where the Word of God is preached. To their benefit, don’t forget that!”
By this time, Mr. Kessler was out on the sidewalk, while Brother Vern hung on to the door, still talking. “And if anybody needs any spiritual help, teachin’ or preachin’ or prayin’, anytime of the day or night, why, I’m right here ready to minister to one an’ all.” He started to close the door, but was struck with another thought. Leaning out again, he called, “Oh, Brother Kessler, a God-thing just hit me in the head! You gonna need a chaplain. That would be a fine thing to offer prospective buyers. Tell ’em it’s one of the amenities you’re offering. A Condo Chaplain, what do you think of that?”
But Mr. Kessler was making tracks down the sidewalk and didn’t reply. Etta Mae and I had to nudge Brother Vern aside to get ourselves out and hurry after him.
Puffing a little as I reached Mr. Kessler’s side, I said, “Isn’t it inspiring to hear such enthusiasm? Brother Vern is always in the forefront of the newest trends. He was one of the first preachers around here to move from radio to television preaching. And now, here he is, all taken up with what I think is called wealth theology, which ought to interest you, Arthur. But I will admit, Brother Vern can get carried away at times. His heart’s in the right place though. He’s just an example of how willing our people are to go the extra mile to be good neighbors.”
Mr. Kessler came to a halt on the sidewalk as we reached the courthouse. “Fences make good neighbors, and I might have to put one up.” He swung around and glared at me. “Was he serious? Does he think he’ll have the run of my building?”
“Oh, I imagine he does,” I said placidly. “We’re real friendly around here. Aren’t we, Etta Mae?”
“Yes, ma’am, we are,” she said. “Why, we don’t hardly ever lock our doors. The only time we do is when Dixon Hightower gets one of his prowling fits. Why,” she went on with a laugh, “I remember when ladies used to hang their wash out to dry and Dixon would go from yard to yard, taking whatever he wanted. Sears had a big run on dryers after that.”
“Who’s Dixon Hightower?” Mr. Kessler demanded.
“Oh,” I said with a careless wave of my hand, “he’s one of our young men who’s never entirely grown up. He’s harmless and really a sweet boy. There’re just certain things he can’t resist taking when he sees them. It used to be little, shiny things—anything from a piece of tinfoil to a silver teaspoon. Now, though, he seems to have moved on to the soft and silky.”
“Yeah,” Etta Mae said, “the last time he went on a spree, they found seventy-two pairs of ladies’ underpants stuffed in his closet. The cops had a time trying to figure out who they all belonged to, especially when some ladies wouldn’t own up to the bigger sizes.”
I hadn’t planned to mention to Mr. Kessler the nature of Dixon’s objects of interest, but I was happy enough for Etta Mae to do so. Forewarned is forearmed, in case Mr. Kessler was accustomed to silk boxers.
“Don’t worry about Dixon,” I said. “You’re a widower and your daughters live somewhere else, so he won’t be a bother to you. You might never even see him.”
“Unless,” Etta Mae said with a laugh, “you’re planning to string clotheslines on the grounds.”
“That’ll be the day,” Mr. Kessler mumbled and stomped off. Then he wheeled around. “I appreciate you ladies taking time to show me around. But I’d be interested in meeting some of the natives and seeing the more cultural aspects of the town. Could we do that next time?”
“Oh, culture!” I said. “Why, we’re loaded with culture, Arthur. Etta Mae and I will try to trim the list down to a manageable size, then we’ll get an early start tomorrow and hit the high spots.”
I took Etta Mae’s arm and turned her toward the sidewalk. “He wants to meet some natives,” I whispered fiercely. “What’s he going to do, take pictures for National Geographic? Or make tapes to amuse his sophisticated clientele? I tell you, Etta Mae, the man thinks we’re a different species.” I stopped suddenly and glared in his direction. “Curiosities. That’s what he thinks we are. And you know what? I believe there’re a few odd specimens here and there we can show him.”
Chapter 25
We left Mr. Kessler to map out the
ruin and destruction of a town landmark and walked down the side street toward the Not-So-Old Market where I’d parked my car. The sidewalk was cluttered with cast-off furniture, plastic toys and what can only be described as unmitigated junk, all for resale.
“Etta Mae,” I said, as she slowed to look at the merchandise, “think culture.”
“I’m trying, but I don’t know what it is exactly.”
“Listen, it’s a fine line we have to walk. We want to show him the worst while pretending it’s the best, but when we don’t even have the worst, what do we do? I mean, Abbotsville is too small for a concert hall or an arts center or a museum or anything like that.” Taking her arm, I went on, “Let’s cross the street here.”
When we were settled in the car, I turned on the ignition to roll down the windows but didn’t start the engine. “Let’s think about this for a minute. We need a plan, a schedule or something. Today’s visit with Brother Vern was too much spur of the moment, although I think it went well, don’t you? When the mayor called back to tell me it would be a good time to show Mr. Kessler Main Street since he’d be downtown anyway, I just grabbed the opportunity and called on you. But, I’ll tell you this, Mayor Outz is not going to be running this show. You wouldn’t believe how eager he is to sell the courthouse. There’s nothing objective at all about his position, so he’d undermine us before we can undermine him, if we give him half a chance.”
Etta Mae frowned as she twisted her mouth in thought. “What I don’t understand is why the mayor is so worried about Mr. Kessler. I didn’t think there was any question that he would buy the courthouse if the commissioners approve it.”
